Kazakhstan. Kazakhstan, my land, how beautiful you are at any time of the year. My land is not just you devote akyns kui. Oh, how beautiful the steppe in the spring, as the ocean surf noise. Wave after wave of running away. Kyzylorda, my soul immense land, no, do not desert you, and the earth a cradle. Mother Syrdarya river taish in yourself you might indomitable force. Wind turns in it the spirit of Korkyt ata. Sour cream on the way, and in the veins freezes the blood. Singing and crying қobyz ata. Oh, my ancient land, about how many times you suffered. Crying came out of the darkness, Otrar was a burning sensation to the ground, and completely destroyed. But do not you break my land, not knelt you. For centuries my soul, have sons batyrs. When the spring steppe is red, and the blood of the sons of warriors, that life is given to you, to my land blossomed. I bow before you, the land where the first ray of the sun, for you, and the sun rises, awakening life. To glorify you, O ancient l -Almat